


Mud Is a Many-Splendored Thing

by icepixie



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: F/M, Fluff, postep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-26
Updated: 2008-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepixie/pseuds/icepixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's streaked with mud from head to toe, including a large spot on his face. His ball cap is completely askew. He is adorable, and, she is surprised to realize, she adores him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mud Is a Many-Splendored Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to "Mud and Blood."

Taking part in the three-legged race leaves both Maggie and Joel stranded flat on their stomachs in the largest mud puddle known to man. Their individual struggles to sit up in the mire lead the already too-loose scarf holding them together to come off and be completely absorbed by the mud, likely not to be found until July. When they finally manage to get upright, she's about to berate him for the fatal slip that took both of them down, but when she looks at him, the words simply won't come.

He's streaked with mud from head to toe, including a large spot on his face. His ball cap is completely askew. He is adorable, and, she is surprised to realize, she adores him.

"What?" he asks, catching sight of her expression.

"Nothing," she says, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "You have mud on your face."

He rolls his eyes. "Of course I have mud on my face. I have mud in places I don't want to think about." His vanity rears its head soon enough, though, and he asks, "Where?" He raises a hand to wipe it off.

"I'll get it," she says, and brings a hand up to wipe it away. He hasn't noticed the mud she'd scooped up while he was studying her smile, and before he sees what she's up to, she smears it across his other cheek, making the muck almost symmetrical.

"O'Connell!" he cries, feigning indignation, and she laughs at the picture he creates.

He lunges for her, and she attempts to squirm to her feet. But for a man in a mud puddle, he's quick, and he takes her down, grinning in triumph at the splash she makes when she lands on her back, his hands holding her wrists and his body weighing her down. "Fleischman, get off me!" she yells, but she doesn't mean it, not really.

Ruth-Anne passes by just then, casting an amused glance over them. "Looks like you two need to be hosed off," she says.

_For more reasons than one,_ Maggie thinks, but doesn't say. Fleischman is still holding on to her wrists, and she wishes suddenly that they were alone.

Ruth-Anne continues on her way, and after a long moment, Fleischman rolls off of her and cautiously gets up. She joins him, and they both stand there for a moment, dripping mud from their sleeves and the hems of their jackets.

He finally holds out his hand and asks, "Shall we?" She takes it, the mud squishing warmly between their fingers, and together they squelch across the field to the mud-spattered crowd gathered around Maurice's garden hose.


End file.
